


To See You Alive

by wasp



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bodyguard!AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:25:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasp/pseuds/wasp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t ever expect to see him again until he literally bumps into him on the street. (Coda to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/563524">stitching up the seams</a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	To See You Alive

_“I owe you so much. I’m sorry.”_

~

Louis remembers the last words he’d spoken to Liam that morning when he’d left with his airplane tickets and suitcase in hand. He remembers standing in the middle of the airport unable to move. He remembers dialling Liam’s number too late.

~

Louis thinks about Liam a lot, if he made it to Australia, what he’s doing, if he’s learned to surf like he always wanted to. He doesn’t expect to see him again. He wants to remember how Liam used to look at him because he has enough nightmares where his eyes turn cruel and opens wound after restitched wound. He still thinks about him though, it’s his punishment for not being enough.

Louis thinks about what it’d be like if he saw him again and he practises endless conversations in his head. It’s not fair, he knows this, but it’s like he’s been talking to him this whole time. When he’d held his father’s hands on his deathbed, in never-ending business meetings, sitting in his bathtub with an unopened bottle of vodka. He’s thought of countless things he’d say if he could ever see him again yet when he does he _can’t_.

He doesn’t ever expect to see him again until he literally bumps into him on the street.

It’s been five years and Louis’ stopped turning his head when his eyes betray him, when he thinks he sees the familiar set of shoulders walking down the street. His gut doesn’t drop to his feet anymore and he doesn’t chase after him, hands curling around unfamiliar wrists and apologising immediately for the mistake.

But it’s him. He looks different, like he’s acquired skin Louis’ never touched before and possibly never will. He’s thought about this moment so many times, chased it down the path for all those years and now he has no idea what he’s supposed to do. He just knows he needs to stop him right there on the street until Liam realises who it is and a shock of recognition flits over his features.

Louis’ feels this great sorrow, cloying at his skin and burrowing deep at the same time as his eyes trace over Liam. He hasn’t seen him in _five_ years, they never took any pictures together – he had _nothing_ – and now he’s standing here in the flesh.

“How was Australia?” Louis asks and it’s wrong, it’s all so wrong but he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t pay any attention to the crowd surging around them, stands in front of Liam on two feet instead of hiding away into the shadows like he should.

He doesn’t reply, of course he doesn’t. He just stands there and the only evidence that he’s heard Louis is the way his fingers are curled around his messenger bag strap, knuckles turning white from the force of it. He takes in a sharp intake of breath and his gaze becomes almost glazed, like he can’t stand to look at Louis while Louis’ drinking in his fill, bouncing off the edges of Louis’ shape.

“Louis,” he says after a moment, his voice steady and low.

Louis’ going to tremble right out of his skin, he can’t stand it. He knows he deserves it, he deserves fucking _worse._ He grabs at Liam’s wrist desperately, his fingers holding on tight as he says, “Can we talk?” He sounds frantic to his own ears but he’s trying to focus on wanting everything else but for Liam to break his nose and make him bleed – he’s supposed to be done with that.

“You look good,” Liam says curtly, professional and impersonal. He says the ‘good’ like he means _healthy_ and _safe_ and Louis doesn’t know what to say to that. He finally looks Louis in the eye, brown eyes foreign and his lips curl harshly when he says, “Do you still-.”

“Fuck everything with a dick and a pulse?” Louis cuts in before he can say it. He can do this so much better than Liam, he’s learned some time ago no-one can hurt him, _really_ hurt him, as much as he can do it to himself. He smiles ruefully, tilting his head to the side and says, “Can we talk somewhere other than the middle of the street?”

Liam’s lips press together into a hard line and he doesn’t respond, his pulse jumping underneath Louis’ fingertips. He seems to come to a decision and nods abruptly. He turns around and Louis doesn’t hesitate to follow, ignoring his phone buzzing in his back pocket, most probably Rosa about the event he’s supposed to be getting ready for.

He holds onto Liam’s wrist until he shrugs him off.

~

The apartment isn’t far from where they met and Louis knows better than to go anywhere without his bodyguard but it’s _Liam_. He keeps his eyes firm on the line of Liam’s broad shoulders, the cotton of his shirt sticking to his skin from the heat until they enter the building.

Louis hadn’t noticed Liam was carrying groceries the whole time and he drops it off on the first floor, tucking a note into the toilet rolls. He watches in confusion, the feeling that they’re actually strangers now widening with all the things he no longer knows about him. The door creak open and a lady with snow white hair and papery thin skin emerges to thank him warmly.

Liam doesn’t look at Louis when she asks who he is, offering him a friendly smile. He hastily says his goodbye, polite as always, and starts to climb the stairs before she even disappears back inside. Louis follows after smiling back at the lady, his fingernails digging into his palms.

It’s like he’s always known but the way his heart thuds heavily inside his chest just reaffirms it. It’s not pure and all conquering but it’s _strong_ as ever.

Liam shuts the door behind him, dropping his messenger bag to the side of the room in a display of well-practised routine. He walks over towards his bed, feet heavy and tired, and starts to pace.

“Say what you need to and get out,” Liam says, crossing his arms and staring down at the ground.

Louis doesn’t realise he’s been holding his breath until he lets it out, something akin to relief flowing through his veins. This is what he’d wanted, this is what he needs. He wants Liam to shout, to pierce him where it’ll hurt the most – he’s been waiting for so long.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Louis says, looking around slowly. He doesn’t want to make any sudden movements, Liam’s already wound up tight enough as it is. “Who’s the lovely madam on the first floor?” he asks, drifting forward. He’s stalling for time, unable to explain himself now that he’s here.

Liam laughs unexpectedly, ruthless and he shakes his head at the ground, refuses to look at Louis again. He doesn’t respond but it’s enough said, Louis doesn’t get to know details about his life. Not anymore.

“Liam,” he says, unable to say it. It’s become a constant pain, excruciating but manageable, like the bruises he used to acquire and press into so they wouldn’t heal. He needs to do this so he can stop digging his fingers into his skin, it’s selfish and _Louis_.

“What makes you think you’re the only person in the world that’s been hurt before?” Liam interrupts, his voice laced with barely contained anger. It seems to be vibrating from him in waves, washing over Louis and somehow calming his frenzied nerves. “What gives you the right to act like it?” Liam asks and he’s stopped pacing, standing in the middle of the room.

“I waited at the airport – I waited for you every single day,” Liam says and he’s shaking properly now, his tone starting to waver. “I _believed_ you,” he says and he doesn’t angry any more, rage being replaced with a sense of grief. He sounds wrecked, the weight of five years resonating in his words.

Louis laughs, entirely humourless and sharp, and smiles cuttingly honest. “You can’t hate me as much as I hate myself,” he says, it’s all he can do. He keeps his distance, the tension coiling thick around the both of them.

Liam looks up at Louis, expression unreadable and then he’s sitting down heavily at the edge of the bead. He suddenly looks all too small and defeated, choking on a sigh he can’t seem to release no matter how much his lungs ache.

He doesn’t speak for a while, staring hard at the bit of scuffed wooden floor in front of Louis’ toes. When he finally does he just says, “I don’t hate you.”

Louis finds himself wishing he would.

Liam hides his face by digging the heels of his palms into his eyes sockets, pressing down until they’re trembling and he’s got to be hurting himself. He can’t seem to regular his breathing pattern, hunched in on himself like he’s been shot in the chest, unable to say anything else.

Louis draws forward; his body pulling towards Liam without his permission and the scrape of his expensive shoes against the floor is barely audible over Liam’s harsh breathing. He keeps going even if Liam’s curled up on himself and his own heart is pounding, reverberating through his body as if it wants to break every bone. He forces his feet to continue moving until he’s standing in front of Liam, so familiar and foreign at the same time. His body and mind are telling him two different things – he knows the shape of Liam’s thighs and the feel of his muscles under his palm but he’s not _allowed_ to.

“Liam,” he tries again, his throat hurting from the effort of not breaking. He grabs Liam’s wrists again, wraps his fingers around the thin skin over bone. They don’t feel anywhere near as strong as he remembers, an anchor during the storm, and he pulls, trying to get him to stop.

“Don’t,” Liam says and tries to twist out of his grip, recoiling away from him.

“I _couldn’t_ ,” Louis says, the words being scraped out of him until his voice turns hoarse and rough. The easiest thing would be to just leave, he’s making it worse for the both of them – they never had to meet again.

“Why couldn’t you do it for _me_?” Liam asks and finally drops his hands into his lap uselessly. His eyes are raw red and wet when he finally looks up at Louis, the cold defence dropping at his question. It feels like he’s been building up to it, year after year, and it’s almost too heavy to answer.

Louis can’t find the words to explain, doesn’t think he can even if he wanted to so he does what he’s always done best, tries to convey what he can’t say through his fingertips. Liam pushes him away immediately, shaking his head again but Louis doesn’t give up, his fingers firm against Liam’s shoulder to keep him from pulling away. He just needs to hold him there long enough to find the words.

It’s like Louis’ touch drains all the strength out of Liam’s body until he’s slumping forward into Louis. He crumbles against him, bit by bit. He needs to reaffirm Louis’ presence, that he’s actually _here_ after years of not, and he pulls him forward. It’s not hard for Louis to climb into Liam’s lap, his thighs bracketing his hips, his knees sinking down onto the mattress.

He doesn’t remember the way his skin felt against his, no-one could really stand in for the way it felt, and so Louis wraps his arms around Liam and hugs him to his chest. He opens his mouth but the words stick to his throat, refusing to be released. Liam’s shaking so hard against him, his face buried against the side of his neck. He pulls Louis closer until his fingers are digging hard enough into the skin over his ribs to leave bruises, silent in his sorrow.

“I tried. I promise you I tried. I couldn’t unpack for - I was going to-,” Louis says desperately, his arms tight around Liam, sealing them together tightly. He feels his throat close up at how the collar of his shirt is becoming wet with hot tears. He cards his fingers through Liam’s hair, keeping him close as he can and trying so hard to keep it together.

“I said I wasn’t going to leave you and you didn’t believe me. It didn’t end up like that at all, did it?” Liam gasps into his skin, barely audible. “You left _me,”_ he says and it’s harsh, the way he says it, his mouth pressed hot and unforgiving against his collarbone.

“I know,” Louis says even quieter, hunched over Liam and holding on with all he has. “I’m sorry. You deserved better.”


End file.
